


by the tail (a tiger)

by plingo_kat



Category: James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Gen, M/M, References to Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-17
Updated: 2012-11-17
Packaged: 2017-11-18 21:00:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/565243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plingo_kat/pseuds/plingo_kat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing about Bond (and Q has spent more time than he probably should have contemplating this topic), is that he’s a patriot. </p><p>MI6 likes to recruit orphans because orphans are looking for someplace to belong. All the really good agents are those that succeed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	by the tail (a tiger)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this edit](http://asoftermi6.tumblr.com/image/35515889072) of asofterworld with Whishaw!Q by [thimble](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thimble/pseuds/thimble). I'm not quite sure what happened, to be honest.

Strangely, the efficiency of Q-branch increases a solid five percent in the month following what has been dubbed Operation: Skyfall. (Bond refuses to use the name, and instead refers to the incident as “that bloody fucking mess.”) At least half of this improvement can be traced back to Q.

“Fifteen new patents in the past three weeks,” Tanner says, flicking idly through some paperwork. “Quite impressive, Q.”

“Sixteen, you’ll find,” Q corrects him. “And that’s only if they would allow me to file patents for my work, which, as you know, my contract stipulates is forbidden. How enemies of the state could infer how to circumvent our security system from the design of a more efficient air filtration unit is beyond me.”

“I believe innovations in weaponry and security technology were more what we had in mind when we drafted that clause. Besides, one can never be too safe.”

Q shrugs. “It’s not as if I need the money.”

Tanner raises an eyebrow. “Or the prestige?”

“More attention means more complications. Look at Bond, for instance. Do you know how many contracts he has on his head?”

“We’re aware,” Tanner says dryly.

“Of course you are. I coded the software that compiles the data for you.”

“You’re a little shit, you know that?”

Q smirks. “Obviously. I’d never be able to keep up with the rest of you, otherwise.”

 

“…Is there something I can do for you?” Q says before he turns around, because Bond has taken to lurking behind him and _staring_ until the hairs on the back of Q’s neck prickle in primal reaction. If Bond isn’t there then nobody has to know Q talks to empty air when his instincts aren’t quite up to snuff.

This time Bond _is_ there, cold blue eyes trained on the back of Q’s skull – now meeting Q’s challenging gaze – coiled in a deceptively casual stance against the wall. He smiles. It’s not a reassuring expression.

“I can’t visit my favorite quartermaster?”

“I’m your only quartermaster,” Q points out, then winces internally. He shouldn’t have said that.

Bond’s widening grin only reinforces the idea that engaging in banter was a mistake. Q is acutely aware of the width of Bond’s shoulders, strong enough to absorb gun recoil like nothing; the blunt lethality of Bond’s callused hands; the harsh lines on Bond’s face, craggy and implacable as he kills. The man is a beautiful weapon.

“Your company is a gift,” Bond assures him, halting a good half-foot into Q’s personal space, close enough that his suit jacket brushes against the drooping fabric on the elbow of Q’s overlarge cardigan. 

_”Your_ company is unwelcome,” Q says pointedly. “Feel free to leave.”

Bond just leans in closer. Q can feel the heat radiating off him, a body in overdrive. “Have you figured out how to kill everyone, yet?”

“I know how to kill you,” Q says. He readies himself to stab Bond’s hand with a pen if the other man tries to ruffle his hair.

Bond just chuckles, more a grunt of amusement than true laughter. “Do let me know how the project goes. I’ve a vested interest.”

It isn’t until after he leaves that Q realizes Bond was talking about Q-branch’s attempts to create a better suicide capsule.

 

Around this point, Q realizes that he may have a problem.

 

The thing about Bond (and Q has spent more time than he probably should have contemplating this topic), is that he’s a patriot. 

MI6 likes to recruit orphans because orphans are looking for someplace to belong. All the really good agents are those that succeed, and Bond could very well be the poster boy for the recruited orphan that found something to be loyal to.

Another truth, only secret because nobody really wants to think about the implications: loyalty to a person is much easier to cultivate than loyalty to an ideal. Bond, Q decides, belongs to M, and through M to his country. Anybody could see that he loved the old M, and that she was fond of him as well. They had a mildly familial relationship, if perhaps more recognizable when filtered through a liberal helping of sociopathy, sarcasm, and lies.

But M is as much an idea as a person. Bond allows for that; he can change his loyalties between the individuals under the title. He’s settling in with the new M quite well, in any case, slowly building up a level of rapport that, if not on par with his relationship with the old M, is perfectly sufficient for field work.

Q, on the other hand – well. 

 

“He brought me back two gun _halves_ ,” Q tells Eve mournfully as he drops off the day’s paperwork. Minions (more commonly known as interns) could do it just as well, but Q likes to chat with Eve. He also likes to admire her legs in three inch heels, but that’s neither here nor there. “They weren’t even from the same gun.”

“Poor baby,” Eve says unsympathetically. She sorts and stacks the folders Q hands her with brisk efficiency.

“I feel as if you don’t appreciate my pain,” Q says. “There were _two different halves of two different guns_.”

“You missed a signature here,” Eve says, pointing to a blank line.

“Argh,” Q says.

 

Some time into the third week following Operation: Skyfall (“that bloody fucking mess”) Bond sets up camp in Q-branch.

Colonel Mallory (Q hasn’t quite gotten used to calling him ‘M’ yet) pulls Bond from active duty immediately after the previous M’s funeral. Bond retaliates by engaging in what Q can only term psychological warfare. The (suspended) agent spends all his time lurking around HQ, flirting with Eve and staring steadily at M whenever he ventures out of his office. When intimidation doesn’t work, Bond moves on to the arguably more terrifying tactic of aggressive helpfulness. Tea and coffee appear out of nowhere whenever anybody looks away for more than half a second. Relevant paperwork is mysteriously shuttled from one inbox to another. Q has even heard that one extremely underappreciated accountant found a teddy bear and chocolates sitting on her desk.

And now Bond is offering his services to Q-branch: more specifically, to Q himself.

“I’m sure you’d love to see me work something that explodes,” Bond says. Q can’t tell if he’s trying to make an innuendo or not. Then Bond continues, “I’m better at handling that sort of thing than your lot.”

That answers that question.

“If you want to indulge in your frankly wearisome death wish,” Q says, “go play chicken with traffic. Or perhaps ambush the psychologist again, to see if M will actually fire you this time. Just stop bothering _me_.”

Bond grins at him, razor-sharp, exuding a kind of smug menace. Q ignores him as much as he can until Bond reaches out to fiddle with an exposed bit of circuitry on Q’s desk, and then he swipes at the agent’s hand with a snarl.

“If you’re going to make yourself a continued nuisance, I’m sure we can test out the new suicide capsule on you.”

Bond stills. The feeling of menace eases. Q looks up, brows furrowed; banter shouldn’t phase Bond in the least—

Ice blue eyes are fixed with unnerving intensity on Q’s face. Q nearly flinches backwards before remembering himself, remembering that the best way to face predators is to act like one of them. (Besides, he _is_. Bond kills up close and personal, one individual at a time; Q kills from a distance, but he can snuff out hundreds with a single keystroke.)

“Something the matter, 007?” He keeps his voice dry, slightly amused, and can tell he doesn’t fool Bond at all. Bond saw Q’s instinctive flinch and _liked_ it.

Q abruptly hates him before dismissing the emotion. Might as well hate a tiger for killing deer; it was just in their nature. Not that Bond couldn’t show a little more restraint, however.

“Q-branch is reworking the cyanide capsule?”

“No longer cyanide,” Q sniffs. “Inefficient stuff. We’re going for something more… incendiary.”

Bond is close enough now for Q to see his pupils dilate. The man’s fascination with self-destruction is at the best of times only vaguely amusing; currently it’s actually disturbing.

Q wants to lean closer, to breathe in the air Bond is exhaling, lick at the seam of those slightly parted lips, stare into those focused eyes and see what lies behind them.

 _I could spend a lifetime studying you,_ he thinks.

 

They fall into each other naturally, inevitably. Bond does all the heavy lifting because that is his job. Q keeps himself detached, a voice in Bond’s ear, for as long as he can deny himself. In the end it is Bond that shatters their tentative equilibrium, because Bond never follows the rules.

Q finds his place to belong. He sees M’s (the old M’s) hand in it, a subtle positioning and a ruthless understanding of human motivation, maneuvering lives to where they will be most useful, to become the most that they can be. (Not best, _most_. There’s a difference.)

“When you die,” Q asks idly, one hand splayed on Bond’s bare chest, “what do you think I’ll do?”

“When we kill me,” Bond runs his hand over the line of his jaw, lingering over the newly implanted suicide capsule, “I hope you hunt down the bastards that are left and eviscerate them.”

Q will. Q will also stay with MI6, because Bond is loyal to M and his country and Q is loyal to Bond, and when Bond is gone all Q will have left is an empty bed and broken weapons and a rage cold enough to break the world.

“Are you over your existential crisis?” Bond says, cupping Q’s hip pointedly. “Or do you need a bit longer to figure out what you should do with me now?”

“I can’t think of a single thing I don’t want to do to you,” Q says, and draws blood when he bites Bond’s shoulder to prove it.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was alternatively titled: 'sociopaths and assholes all.' So there's that. Also, "tiger by the tail" is apparently a synonym for "obsession." Who knew?


End file.
